Dragon Age Challenges
by popehippo
Summary: Just my collection of 100-ish word drabbles, as inspired by the  prompts of the lovely LiveJournal community, dragonage! No particular  story, timeline or even canon Hawke in mind; just a bunch of little stories.  T for a wide range of themes.


APRIL 2011

**Merrill, Isabela, shopping**

"Green is _definitely_ your color, kitten," cooed Isabela as she watched Merrill inspect the clothes. The little elf didn't seem so sure herself. All the clothes in the market stall were Orlesian or Ferelden or Rivaini in design... in short, all human-made. And they were all a little too big for her anyways; if she had bought them, it would have looked more like a girl putting on her older sister's borrowed clothes.

"I was thinking... something more..." The former Dalish blushed.

Isabela tilted her head. Her pirate senses were tingling. "Moooooore...?"

Merrill's face was red enough to possible go aflame any second. "Something Hawke would like to look at... you know... when we're not killing demons and nasty folk."

_OH._

The raider queen grinned like a demon and snatched her friend by the hand. "In that case. We are going to find a different shop."

"Oh? Which one?"

"The one with all the drooling men in it. Trust me. You'll know it when you see it."

* * *

><p><strong>Collars <strong>

Mistress loved flowers.

Leto stared at the gardens beyond the window of the manor. Olympia, their mistress, loved to see the blooming flowers and bushes and trees. So she had wept bitterly when her father, the lord of the house, had sold away her favorite slave who tended to them. Who else would know how to care for her Andraste's grace buds in the spring? Or remember to cover her rows of blood red parranias?

But Magister Juventis had been deaf to her pleas. "Profits from the Free Marches are down," he had said in his nasal tone, "and we must make due."

So they had cut off the collar, the black one with their house's symbol on it to brand him theirs, and sold Leto's father to another home.

Trying to will away the tears, the boy stared at the dying flowers and wondered if he'd ever see him again.

* * *

><p><strong>Eggs<strong>

It had started with a cake and an offhand comment about Bodahn's birthday.

Neither of them had made one before.

So they'd tried to mix it together and made a mess. Garret had slipped on some spilled milk on the floor, tripping Anders and sending the bowl of mix everywhere.

They had a spat over who had done what. It was stupid and going nowhere, so Garrett ended it with a kiss. Once the surprise had passed, Anders had been more than willing to end the argument there. And again on the table. And later by the fireplace.

Garret gave his apostate a kiss on his sugar-caked cheek and nuzzled his face into his shoulder. He could live like this forever.

* * *

><p><strong>Rolling in the deep<strong>

Three years, three years she'd been gone. And for three years, Isabela hadn't been able to get Hawke out of her mind.

Or, worse, out of her dreams. She was an avid dreamer, her little trips to the sleeping world filled with images of unbreakable ships with a gold-trimmed helm, filled to absolute stuffing with jewels and silks and wine, and maybe a saucy cabin boy to boot... but now on that ship she hears a woman's voice, _Cersei's_ voice, her laugh carried away by the sea winds. But when Isabela tries to find her, to touch that golden hair and kiss that firm-lipped mouth, Hawke is gone again.

And when she wakes up breathless, she's alone, and she has no one to blame but herself.

* * *

><p><strong>The moment Fenris gives in to Isabela.<strong>

"What does freedom mean to you," he asks, putting the wineglass down.

She's clearly caught off guard by the question; she was busy staring at some of the items left behind in the manor. Maybe he should change the locks; if she's thinking of stealing it, Fenris will at least present a challenge for the pirate. "Eh?"

"Freedom," repeated the elf. "You've never been a slave." But I've never met someone who values their independence as much as you."

"Heh. Independence?" Isabela smirked in that way he liked. She smiles easier than he does. It's odd, really; she hides all her emotions behind an experienced poker face yet her face is as fluid and soft as the waters she loves, while his feelings are instant and harsh yet he finds the warmer emotions hard to express.

And yet it's those small differences that are the most important... the most intriguing.

"Well," he offered, "unless you'd prefer what Hawke called you. What was it? 'Being a self-centered wench-thief with trust issues'."

That made her laugh again and the sound went up his spine. Rich, full, warm and confident. "That works too! But... I don't know how to explain it. I've never had your problems, Fenny. I mean, sure, being shackled to a bastard son of a goat husband for years was no walk in the park, but still." She paused to think. "But for me, it's... being able to choose my own fate. Yeah, I've made a few stupid mistakes once or ten. But they were _my_ mistakes. No one else made them for me. In the end, that's what matters. That's real freedom."

And in that moment, her brown eyes glistened, and he could see the truth of it. She was free. Fiercely so. And she would defend that choice with her life.

So he made a choice. His own choice. Whether it was a mistake they'd both regret, or a victory they would never forget, he had no idea of knowing. The uncertainty of it thrilled and frightened him.

And that certainly felt like freedom.

* * *

><p><strong>Another big damn spider?<strong>

"You screamed like a girl."

"I _am_ a girl."

"Okay then, you squealed like a pig."

"Isabela, that's just _rude_."

"I'm just saying it's still kind of hilarious that you've faced down abominations, skeletons, pirates, dragons, qunari, your mother when she's angry, slavers, -"

"Is this going anywhere? Anywhere at all?"

"-and you _squeal like a piggie_ when you see a spider."

"... It was a big damn spider, okay."


End file.
